Pas de Deux
by fangsandvervain
Summary: Damon's hand was grasping her own gently, poised in the air. His feet moved gracefully across the marbled floor, her own feet keeping up as if they'd rehearsed the dance their entire lives.  DxE


Moonlight slithered in from the open window, splattering across the hardwood floors like paint spilled carelessly from a can. It was a strangely bright evening; the plethora of stars in the abnormally clear sky only illuminated Elena's bedroom further. A whisper of a breeze entered her safe haven, fluttering the curtains tenderly. To the plain eye, it was the most serene of settings. If one dared to look closer, however, a few things might seem...out of the _ordinary_.

For instance, if an onlooker were to notice the fragments of a now-shattered window latch scattered about the window-sill, they might categorize that detail as a bit odd. Perhaps the muddy footprints leading to Elena's bed might even spark their interest. But what would really whip them into a frenzy? Would it possibly be the fact that the owner of said-footprints, Damon Salvatore, was lounging on Elena's bedspread?

Damon didn't seem hardly fazed by the notion that he'd made it inside Elena's bedroom without the slightest of sounds. That's purely what he had been designed to do. Quietly structured in order to achieve the thrill of catching his prey off-guard, in addition to acquiring the kill necessary to keep human blood coursing through his dormant veins. In fact, he appeared rather bored with himself, spaced as close to Elena's sleeping form as physically permitted without touching her. He rested his head on his porcelain hand, laying sideways in an attempt to obtain the best view possible of his brother's infatuation.

Yawning widely, Damon arched an eyebrow, wondering what the chances were of Elena sleeping in a soundless slumber through the night. They'd be slimmed down quite drastically if he chose to toy with her landscape of dreams. Half-smiling, he projected a vision towards her, recognizing the beginning stage of his influence upon her as her naive mind absorbed his compulsion. The reaction was almost immediate. A subconscious facade of dismay spread across her warm features, tainting her once-pleasant air of contentment. Her lips parted, as if to create a noise or words, if any could be uttered to fit the situation. It was only a matter of moments before Elena's projected 'nightmare' had hit its peak.

"Come on, Elena. Wake up, sleeping beauty," Damon cooed, his strategic voice a meek level above the silence. Elena whimpered softly in response, a seemingly ever-present frown playing upon her pouting lips. Playfully blowing on her nose, he simultaneously suppressed a grin at her inner turmoil. She submissively wrinkled her nose, the corners of her mouth twitching in preparation of a possibly audible answer to his teasing maneuvers. Damon pushed out his lower lip in a gesture of mock-sympathy as the damsel-in-distress before him began to murmur incoherently.

"Let's not speak in tongues, Elena. Nap-time is over," he whispered in jest, deftly twirling a strand of her raven-colored locks between his fingers. It was only when the dream intensified - at the request of Damon - that Elena stirred, on the verge of being fully conscious. "There we go. What's the story, morning glory?" Damon quirked an eyebrow, waiting for his presence to take full-effect. He couldn't help but allow a sinister smirk to shine through his normally composed elements. Elena played her part in the scenario, appropriately shocked at the figure laying in her bed. Her initial feedback was to scream or yelp in surprise, but the wave of disbelief reached her first, silencing her.

"Damon! Wha-," she sputtered, attempting to keep her voice low as to not disturb Jeremy or Aunt Jenna. It didn't take long to pick up her verbal stride where she'd pathetically left off. "What the hell are you _doing_ here? You do realize it's 4:18?" Elena muttered fiercely, her eyes on the bleak, neon green numbers of the digital clock sitting innocently next to them.

"I didn't forget how to tell time, Elena. I've only been perfecting the skill for a century and half," he said with a roll of his blue-grey eyes. This only infuriated her further.

"I'm sure there was such a thing as common sense, even back during the Civil War. Intruding when you're not wanted is still a no-no," Elena spoke, a faint hint of mockery in her tone. Damon mimicked her air of superiority before retorting coolly.

"It's not a matter of being wanted. I've been _invited_. Eternally, might I add. One of the many perks of being undead. By the way, were you at all impressed with my imagery skills? I need to brush up on the whole 'nightmare implantation' lesson, sure, but it was still far too simple to get into your head. You might want to rethink your vitamin supplements. A glass of milk a day keeps prying vampires away," Damon recited in a sing-song voice, a smirk planted firmly upon his enticing mouth.

Elena's cheeks burned, blushing a heavy burgundy like that of the finest aged wines. The 'dream' - if one could appropriately name it as such - had been one of her more extravagant ones, considering the vividity and perpetual clarity of which it was displayed in her mind.

She'd found herself in a dimly-lit ballroom, clothed in a corseted colonial gown of a deeply crimson color with black undertones. Glancing about in an inquisitive manner, Elena noticed for the first time a dark figure across the dance floor. Stepping closer in anticipation, she was caught off-guard to realize it was Damon, properly-clad in a suit that flattered his physique. His eyes were alluring, yet held an air of danger, similar to the signaling wave of heat when in close proximity to a flame. Instinctively, Elena moved forward, the _swish_ of her gown's train breaking the ominous silence. She didn't cover but a yard before Damon was directly in her path, inches away from her. His speed hadn't entirely surprised her, but it was quick enough to make their closeness uncomfortable. When she made to take a step back, he caught her by the waist, snaking an arm around her and pulling her close. Elena had expected her sense of repulsion to kick in at any second, yet it seemed to diminish into nothing, replaced by a heightened feeling of curiousity. Damon's hand was grasping her own gently, poised in the air. His feet moved gracefully across the marbled floor, her own feet keeping up as if they'd rehearsed the dance their entire lives.

It was now, flicking through the frames of that particular dream like a photo album, that Elena remembered Damon's sudden halt in the fluidity of his agile movements. He'd stopped mid-step, acting as if they hadn't just waltzed halfway about the ballroom. There was an all-too familiar glint in his eye, one that struck a dangerous chord in her mind. She barely had time to gather her dispersed thoughts into an organized manner before he dipped her towards the marble floor. Damon kept a careful hand on her lower back, supporting almost all of her weight and balancing her all at once. Sharp canines pierced her ghostly pale neck, followed by an immediate stream of blood trickling through the pursed lips of her assailant. Muted screams bounced vulnerably around in her throat, none of which actually exited her mouth. A sense of heaviness collapsed upon her shoulders, pressing her into an sea of darkness. Elena drifted, drowning as her parched veins quickly ran dry.

"Catch up, Elena. The rest of the class is on page 78," Damon quoted wryly, snapping his fingers in front of her stupefied face. "I realize it was fun, reminiscing over one of your teenage girl, Twilight-like, vampire dreams," he said, stopping momentarily to allow his lips to curl into a sneer, "but I am, after all, still a guest."

Scoffing, she threw the comforter over his lower half, freeing herself from its warmth. She walked over to the window, examining the damage he'd caused to her lock. "You owe me a new window lock," Elena grumbled, ignoring his previous remark.

Damon's voice sounded directly over her shoulder, hinting to her that he'd abandoned his place on her bed. "Oh, please. You mortals and your sense of security. You fail to realize that if someone or some_thing_ wanted to enter your bedroom, a simple lock wouldn't stop them. Obviously this statement is true, otherwise I wouldn't currently be here."

The vague smile in his tone of voice sent chills down her spinal cord.

"Why is it you're here then?"

"What's it to you, Little Miss Nosy Heroine?" At this, Elena gave a great sigh, accompanied by a roll of her eyes.

"You're in _my_ house, Damon. I think that implies that I get to ask the questions."

"Ah, but that's where you're wrong. See, back in the antebellum days, if you had the right amount of power, you could call the shots wherever you pleased. Walk anywhere and you had things handed to you, no work necessary to get them," he whispered menacingly, a thick edge to his cryptic voice.

Elena found that she had a reasonable retort, yet she couldn't shake the lingering afterthoughts that his words left her with. "You are aware that this is the twenty-first century? The same rules don't apply just because you've lived through the 'antebellum days' up until this point."

"_Au contraire. _I've retained the same power through the centuries, Elena. You easily forget that I could cause serious harm to anyone, anywhere, if they mistakenly refused me. Let's hope you don't catch me in a mood where I'll be forced to remind you," Damon said through his gritted teeth. He brushed past her, careful to nudge her shoulder with his own. As he reached the window, he turned around to face her, sarcastically blowing a kiss her way. Elena blinked and he was gone.

It had been one of their stranger encounters, to say the very least, but it emitted great foreshadowing. She knew the growing tension between Damon and Stefan was becoming a full-on war, but was Damon entirely serious about his last words to her? Or was this just another one of his nonsensical utterances that were only meant to agitate her? Elena had to admit the truth; he'd grown quite good at it.

Trudging back to her warm sheets, she paused near her dresser, sensing something off about the scene. She'd just passed it minutes before, so there was no reason to question anything...until her eyes locked on the bouquet of roses placed naively in a vase. They'd been a gift from Stefan yesterday, much to Elena's delight. Their new flaw was quite obvious and she knew in her heart of hearts that Damon had just completed the task while her back was turned. There was no other explanation for why there was such dark humor in his eyes.

The petals, picked off individually from each rose, were strewn about the floor.


End file.
